


easy to need

by amagpie



Series: start the spark [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: But only a tiny bit, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/M, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Porn with Feelings, Size Kink, Vaginal Sex, emotionally constipated margo, the logistics of fucking when you have a massive healing stomach wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 17:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19182448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amagpie/pseuds/amagpie
Summary: Quentin and Eliot are actively dealing with their shit. Margo...isn't.Or: Margo is catching feelings, and she hates it.





	easy to need

Quentin comes back from therapy looking drained but steady. There's a life in his eyes Margo hasn't seen in a long damn time, and she hates herself a little bit for not noticing it had gone out until it was back. Of course she had a kingdom to run, an election to win, a quest to complete, etc. etc. etc. until it all came down to saving Eliot. For all the pain these damn quests have caused them, she never felt actually despondent until the Monster, until she grieved (or didn't grieve) Eliot, and she gets the emptiness inside Quentin a little better now. She's also so fucking grateful it's abated for the moment. 

He walks right over to her, confidently wraps his arms around her, and says, “Hey.”

She can’t help herself but smile. “Hey yourself.”

“Um, can I-” And there’s that typical Quentin hesistence. He’s gotten more sure of himself over the past few years, but when it comes to her, he slips into old habits. “Can I go down on you?”

Margo brushes his hair back from his face. “Therapy really get you going?”

“You get me going.”

And how is she supposed to respond to that in any way other than pushing him down on his knees?

Quentin’s beautiful when he goes down on her, energy rattling through him like he'll explode if she doesn't let him please her. Beautiful after, too, when his face is wet with the taste of her and he kisses her so sweetly. 

She feels adored and cared for. She remembers years ago seeing Quentin-in-love-with-Alice and thinking it seemed a bit stupid, but now that his excitement is directed at her, she's overcome. 

He used to be too afraid to touch her, always letting her be the one to reach out, but now he dares to put a hand in her hair to kiss her.

It's good. It’s too good. This fragile thing between them feels a little too good to last, and what is she even doing here if not just getting her rocks off?

"Hey, is everything ok?”

"Of course, Q."

 

-

 

Eliot is trying to stay away from liquor. The current pain medication he's taking does enough to “keep me high as a kite, thank you very much, Margo, I’d rather avoid an ulcer if I can.” So they smoke instead. Growth.

Margo lounges back on the couch and passes the joint to Eliot who rests his head on her knees. He’s on his back, a position he’s become rather fond of since the gaping chest wound she put in him. 

She runs her fingers through his hair and thumbs his ear. He closes his eyes as he breathes in the smoke, holds it, and releases. She wants to run her entire hand down Eliot’s face but stops herself when she remembers she’s not even high yet. She can’t believe he’s real. 

Eliot breaks the dreamy stillness and says, “Do you think our boy Q would like rope?”

Now there’s a thought. “I doubt there’s much Quentin wouldn’t like. That boy is so damn submissive.”

“We should ask. He’d look great all tied up.”

Margo says, “You just want an excuse to only use his mouth.”

“Excuse me, Bambi, I am a man of many interests. One of those interests just happens to be receiving sloppy, no-hands blowjobs from our boyfriend.”

Something inside Margo clenches in automatic dismissal at the label. Is that what they are? Is that what this has all been leading to?

She plays with his hair and thinks that she doesn’t know what to do with herself if they’re not just fucking around.

Eliot passes her the joint and asks, "What are you thinking, Bambi?"

Ever since the fuckery with the fairies, they’ve promised to be honest with each other. But she can’t, not with this doubt creeping in.

She takes another pull, and breathes out, "Nothing at all."

 

-

 

This thing they have going is so simple that it felt easy at the start. Fuck Quentin, fuck Eliot, fuck them together and continue on as if everything is the same and nothing has to change. 

Eliot and Quentin are beautiful. They work together - she should know, she’s watched them fuck enough times to get an accurate reading. On some level, she knows they’re falling in love - she doesn’t know if they’ve said it, yet; they haven’t done that in front of her. And it should be perfect - she gets her best friends back and she gets her clit sucked when the timing is right. It should all be perfect.

Except, fuck, Margo’s catching feelings.

She has no idea when it started. Maybe when Quentin brought her an extra bagel after his morning run, or when Eliot’s cuddling and touches started to get even more frequent, more expected. The sex was always hot and dirty, but now sometimes she stares into Quentin’s eyes while he’s fucking her like a fucking romance novel heroine. She’s pretty sure she almost started crying the last time Eliot ate her out, but she wouldn’t admit that even under torture. 

Margo  _ cares,  _ and she hates it. Honestly, she feels like a stupid bitch.

Margo has never met a man she couldn’t wrap around her finger. Women of the ‘people-I’d-like-to-fuck’ category were a little harder, but once she figured out what they wanted, it was still easy. Seduction is fun, but ultimately all it leads to is a good story to tell Eliot. When she was younger, it was a different best friend, but the pattern was still the same: seduction, fun, story. Rinse and repeat. If she got bored, the circumstances might change, but ultimately it was all the same. 

Of course she loves her friends, but it just feels melodramatic to think about being  _ in love _ with anyone. 

If this were Brakebills, they could get drunk and talk about how cute Quentin was and decide together if they liked him enough to start something real. But they’re not Margo&Eliot fucking with a freshman anymore - it’s now, and they’re grown ups and she doesn’t know what to do. 

Her gut instinct says break it off, stop it dead in its tracks before anything can hurt. But she doesn’t think she wants that, does she? It’s been fun while it’s lasted, but it might be time to move on. She can give them both privacy for the big love story they’re creating and fuck off to Fillory. 

Eliot opens the front door and walks carefully into the apartment, cane clacking, and breaks her concentration. Margo hazards a glance at him, and he looks vaguely worried at the sight of her staring daggers into a bowl of soup. 

“Hi, Bambi,” he lilts. “How are we doing today?”

“Fine.”

“Do you... wanna talk about it?” El looks lost and a little uncomfortable at the idea of feelings at 11AM. She can’t blame him.

“No.”

“Ok, then.” He leans over to press a kiss to her head. “Hey, Q thought we needed a break from researching, so he suggested movie night. Be presentable at 7.” He looks wistfully towards the bathroom. “Daddy needs to get the stench of physical therapy off. Sweat after anything but sex just feels wrong.”

Margo rolls her eyes at Eliot’s liberal use of the word ‘Daddy’ and smiles without meaning to at the thought of doing something nice with her boys.

Fuck, she hates them for making her feel like this. 

 

-

 

Quentin puts on something insufferably nerdy, which means Margo loves it and Eliot grumbles for the first 15 minutes before succumbing to the story. Quentin rests his head on her shoulder and Eliot reaches around her to rub his back. She leans into them, trying to sink into what’s become the familiar comfort of their embraces. She curls her legs towards Quentin, and it should be perfect and comfortable and everything they are to each other. 

Margo feels  _ trapped, trapped, trapped _ . 

This whole thing is so  _ much  _ and she doesn’t know where her boundaries are and there’s too much intensity between Quentin and Eliot and too much touching. The desire to run and just  _ get out _ seizes her. 

She hates being confused, not knowing exactly what to do. It reeks of weakness, and Margo hates being weak. They’re all supposed to be healing, but how can she help them if she can’t even sit here and watch a fucking movie without wanting to gauge her heart out? She doesn’t want to think anymore, she just wants to  _ do  _ something, anything. 

Margo weasels out from between them to stand in front of the TV, and she’s immediately faced with the Margo-shaped hole she left on the couch and two matching confused faces. “I’m gonna stop sleeping with you.”

The movie keeps playing, the music too loud, but Quentin and Eliot are silent. Q looks to Eliot, his brows knitting together, as if El could be in on this with her, as if they would actually decide something like this behind Q’s back. 

Now that it’s started, she can’t stop herself and says, “It’s great that you two are making goo goo eyes at each other, really it’s fucking wonderful, but I’m bowing out.”

Eliot just sits there with his hand still awkwardly placed along the back of the couch where her body used to be. “Bambi, are you breaking up with us?”

She guesses so, yeah, fuck, she’s breaking up with them. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were never even really together. 

Margo can’t be here anymore. She grits out, “Have fun sucking each other’s dicks without me,” and hears a hurt “What the hell?” from behind her as she rushes back to her bedroom. Fuck, what is she doing?

 

-

 

She pushes her bedroom door closed, throws herself on her bed, and breathes for a moment. The hurt on Quentin’s face, on  _ Eliot’s  _ face, it makes her want to be sick. Part of her assumed it really wouldn’t be a big deal: there have obviously been times when they haven’t fucked as friends and there would just have to be times like that again. No harm, no foul. But that’s not really all they’ve been doing, has it? 

Margo wants to be strong and fearless and untouchable, but cocking out back there feels like one of the weakest things she’s done lately. Fuck.

And of course this apartment, for how big it sometimes feels, is really fucking small, so she can hear the faint sounds of their voices, a half-shout, a silence. She wants to break things or scream, anything to get the swell of feelings inside of her out.

Margo opens her eyes at the thump of gentle knocking on the door. 

“Can I come in?” Quentin. Huh, she thought if anyone was going to go after her it would be Eliot. 

“Why not.”

He crosses the space between the door and the bed with half-steps, and sits himself delicately on the edge of the bed. She’s still on her back, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Are you-” He tucks his hair behind his ear. “Ok, so I do want to, like, I want to respect whatever you want to do with your own body, right? Like, of course, if you want to stop sleeping with me that’s fine.” She can feel his eyes on her now. “Of course that’s fine. We’re friends right?”

She nods her head.

“And I just-” Quentin stops.

They stay in the silence for a moment, Margo running her hands over the bedsheet.

“You don’t have to talk to me. But that hurt.” Quentin is so still next to her. “We’re friends, and I want to talk to you when I’m feeling things, and I want you to be able to talk to me. I care about what’s going on in your head, not just when we have sex. I get it if you’re just not into it anymore, but it kind of feels like something is going on.”

“Nothing’s going on-” Margo automatically defends.

Quentin cuts her off with a frustrated growl and continues, “That is bullshit, Margo.”

And that shuts her up for a moment. Sometimes she forgets that when they’re not playing he’s not actually that scared of her anymore. 

Suddenly laying down for this conversation doesn’t feel like the power move she intended it as, so she sits up to look at him. “Yeah, I guess it is bullshit.”

His eyes go wide, like ‘no shit, go on’ but she can’t say anything more. It all feels so vague inside her right now, all her doubts and worries and fears. There’s still the tiny voice inside her whispering  _ run _ , whispering that she doesn’t (shouldn’t) actually care about any of this. But they’re friends, right? She can talk to her friends. 

She rolls her eyes at herself to try to undermine her words, but she has a feeling Quentin sees right through it. “I don’t know if I can be a person who does this.”

His eyes scrunch up for a second as he processes, and he says, “I thought you used to do stuff like this a lot?”

She may have always been cooler than Quentin, but she can’t let him go on thinking that this is all just so old hat and easy for her. Because obviously it’s not. She would have thought it was obvious by now that she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing even if she can order him around like it’s second nature. “Threesomes and orgies are a lot easier than this.”

And then he seems to get the underbelly of what she’s saying. 

Margo can’t look at him, not now. She sits and stares out straight because she’ll be damned if Quentin Coldwater sees her looking meekly at her hands. 

“Ok, so remember in book 3?” Quentin starts, and Margo is startled at the change in conversation for a moment before she decides to go with it. If Quentin wants to talk about Fillory, he’s welcome to if it means she can stop feeling like this. “Remember when Thomas, the Fillorian kid from the Greater Wilds, joins Jane and Martin for a little bit to help find his dad-”

“Barely.” Of course she remembers; the third book is her favorite. 

“And he helps them defeat the wind-maker, and they have to outsmart the, well the-”

“The racoon-horse?” Margo offers up. 

“Well, yeah.” 

She loves the real Fillory, calls it home, but somehow Quentin always takes her back to being a little girl again when he talks about Fillory-the-story. 

Quentin says, “Just because Jane and Martin had something good going first doesn’t mean they didn’t care about Thomas.”

“Are you trying to say I’m Thomas?”

He looks a bit sheepish. “Yeah, in this particular instance, yeah.”

She gives him a searching look.

Quentin’s eyes dart nervously around the room before landing on her again. “Before, I was kind of thinking of myself as Thomas.”

Oh.

A laugh creeps up and out of her and something angry inside of her settles down for a moment. Isn’t this rich. They’re both two idiots who think the other has something with Eliot that the other can’t touch. How fucking droll. 

“What are we doing here?” she asks.

He lets out his own nervous laugh and says, “I don’t know, you tell me.”

She doesn’t know what she could say, so she leans forward and kisses him softly, sweetly in a way not completely unknown to her but definitely uncommon. 

“What do you want?” Quentin whispers against her mouth.

She plays her fingers through his hair and looks at him, taking in the curl of his hair, the line of his jaw, the wideness of his big, emotive eyes. She thinks if she lets herself do this for real, there’s no way she ends up not getting hurt. She wants too much. 

“I want to give it a shot,” she says. 

“Really?” Those big eyes of his light up, and she feels like she can do anything.

She smiles. “Yeah, Quentin.”

The moment is broken by Eliot opening the bedroom door. He pokes his head in, and there’s a certain edge to his voice as he says, “Is it my turn yet?” 

The edge softens though as he takes in the sight of them together on the bed.

“Oh, I take it the talk went well?”

Quentin turns to him. “Yeah.”

Resolve flashes through El’s eyes. “Ok, but I still have something to say.”

Eliot moves to Margo’s other side and takes her hand. “Look, I’m trying really fucking hard to be more honest. So if you’re freaking out, talk to me, ok? We don’t ruin this.”

Well, if they’re being honest. Margo chokes out, “I don’t know how to do that.”

She locks eyes with Eliot, and knows he gets it. Before Q, Eliot had no idea what a long-term relationship looked like. Margo and Eliot together ruling the Physical Kids Cottage then Fillory was the closest they had to anything resembling love and commitment, and that got fucked up before it got better again. Quentin’s always been so sure about the big things in life - magic and love - he’s always believed in them. Love was never a give-in for Eliot and Margo. She feels so lucky just to have Eliot and Quentin as friends, how can she ask for anything more?

“Hey.” Quentin holds her head so gently she wants to really start crying. “We can figure it out together.”

Margo’s not used to people being so genuinely sweet to her, but Quentin gives it up so freely. 

Eliot pulls himself up to his full sitting height and says, “I know none of us are particularly fond of labels, but we are dating. That much is happening.”

Margo nods. “Alright.” 

“So, you know, act accordingly,” Eliot says.

She presses a firm kiss to his lips. “I can try.”

 

-

 

And later, when she's had enough of cuddling and remembering what it’s like to be them, Quentin and Eliot show Margo how much they adore her. 

Pressing a firm hand to Quentin’s neck, Eliot coaxes, “Show her with your mouth.”

She reaches out to take ahold of Quentin’s hair, something familiar to ground herself while he kisses his devotion into her skin. He noses against her first, but then keeps eyes on her while he leans forward and licks. And it feels good, it feels really good to have him like this, to be able to see how much he cares.

Margo puts her leg over Quentin’s shoulder and pulls him closer. It’s harder for him to see her, but she can feel him better. If they want to worship her, they can go with it.

“Good?” Eliot questions, his arm draped around her shoulders.

“Q is always good,” she states with conviction, staring down at him thoughtfully as he presses his tongue hard against her, doing his best to please her, to show his love in this tangible way.

Eliot wraps his arms more fully around her, arms overlapping and over her heart, and she feels small in his arms but large above Quentin. 

Quentin’s mouth is slow and steady. She can feel herself building towards a plateau of pleasure, not a peak. 

“We want you.” Eliot says, his head resting on her shoulder.

“No shit.”

Eliot lifts his head to look her directly in the eyes. “I want you.”

He kisses her gently, slow and sweet and searching. Margo pushes her fingers into his slicked-back hair and holds him to her. She doesn’t know what it is she’s feeling, but it’s a lot: safe and warm and scared and loved. 

She can feel Quentin move his way up her body, kissing patches of skin that she didn’t know were sensitive. All until he reaches her face, pushing Eliot away and claiming her lips for his own. “I want you.”

“Ok I get it,” Margo says.

Eliot says, “Do you get it? Do you really get it?”

“Yes, goddamnit.” She’s getting there, but she doesn’t know if she can talk about it anymore. It feels like what she wants is in her grasp, but she’s vaguely sick at all the sentimentality necessary to get it. 

“Because I’m going to kiss Q now, and I don’t want you to feel left out.”

“As if.”

“Ok,” Quentin barely whispers before Eliot pushes his tongue into his mouth. Damn, they’re beautiful together. She absently plays her fingers through their hair as they kiss, holding both of their heads gently as they go deep. Her clit throbs at the sight, but she also kind of feels like her heart is throbbing. Feelings are confusing.

“Enough,” Margo declares. “I’m in the mood for something in me.” This is something she knows how to do. She runs her hands down their bodies until she can cup both their cocks. Eliot lets out a happy gasp against Quentin’s mouth. “Which one...”

She’s not sure if it’s too mean for the heartfelt circumstances, but fuck it - “Sorry, Q, but I’m up for something big tonight.”

He hums and his dick feels harder, so she’ll take it that the risk payed off. 

Quentin says, “No - ah, no problem,” and hums when she takes her hand off his dick. Wow, she’s gone for this nerd.

Margo lets out a laugh as Eliot pushes her back against the bed, but the laughter is short lived as Eliot makes a short “Hmmf” of pain at the change in position. Fuck the Monster. 

Quentin and Margo reach out to help him into a position that’s easier on his still-healing abs, laying down flat on his back on the bed with his head resting on a pillow. He’s gone a bit pale with the pain, but says “I’m good, carry on.”

“I’m down to ride,” Margo says as she slides a leg over him. “Lay back and enjoy.”

She settles her weight on top of him and performs the contraceptive spells. The whole time, she’s aware of Quentin watching the flow of her hands. 

When she’s ready, she looks down to Eliot. “You good?”

He holds her waist and nods, staring up at her so fondly. 

Margo holds El’s cock in her hands, the hefty weight of him about to feel so good inside of her. She fits him into position and slides herself down bit by bit. The stretch is good, focusing. It tethers her to the moment, to Eliot, to Quentin. She can feel the tension spread through Eliot’s body as she sinks down onto him, and he smiles at the pleasure. 

“Still good?”

“Yeah, Bambi, still good.” Eliot pinches her hip none too hard. “Get to it.”

She raises her eyebrows but starts to move. To start, she focuses more on small rolls for her own pleasure. He feels big and good inside her, and she reaches her hand down to rub her clit so he feels even better. 

She knows the movement isn’t enough for him, but he’s being good for her for once, not demanding anything more of her just yet. He lets her control the pace.

“Q, come here,” Eliot beckons, and Quentin folds himself up next to Eliot. He’s so good for them, running his hand up Eliot’s chest and kissing his bicep. After a moment, Quentin just rests his head on Eliot’s shoulder and stares up at her while she moves over him. The attention makes her hot.

She moves faster, needing to use both hands now to steady herself as she lifts herself halfway up Eliot’s cock before letting herself fall back down. She can’t be as rough as she’d like for fear of hurting him, so it’s not the most graceful act she’s ever done, but it works. 

Margo’s hit with the striking clarity that she one hundred percent wants to be doing exactly this right now, and how rare it’s been for her lately to have sex that she just absolutely wants, no strings attached. 

With both her hands occupied, Eliot reaches up to take over clit-duty, rubbing his thumb against her while she moves. The image of him sweating beneath her while Quentin just watches pushes her closer to that edge very quickly.

“Harder, harder,” she demands as she clenches around his cock. Margo wants to praise them both for being so good for her, so understanding. Mostly she wants to praise them for just being  _ here _ . Here with her, here alive, here unpossessed, here trying. It makes her want to try harder.

She’s close, and then all at once she’s coming. Her legs quake as she rides it out, Eliot’s thumb pressing hard against her while she drips down his cock. She sits still with him inside her as she feels it, body suddenly still but shaking.

“Did you...?” Quentin asks.

“Yeah,” Margo says, still feeling little twinges of pleasure.

She pulls herself off of Eliot and can see just how hard he is. And Quentin looks too put-together for her liking.

“Clean him up, baby.” She directs Quentin to El’s cock covered in her juices. He smiles, like it’s the best idea in the world.

Quentin scoots down and swallows El’s cock before she can give any kind of instruction. 

Eager. Always so eager.

Her orgasm’s made her loose. She curls up next to Quentin and rubs her hand up and down his back. She kisses his hunched shoulders, whispers to him. Eliot moans while Quentin makes needy little sounds around his cock. It’s a beautiful sight. 

The smell of them is so strong on the bed, and she feels a twinge of arousal as she thinks about Quentin licking her off of Eliot’s cock. The thought makes her want to rub herself all over him, rub El’s come into his skin and never let him forget who he belongs to. She thinks Quentin might actually let them and would thank her the entire time. 

Margo doesn’t know what they expect from her, if they expect anything at all, but she can’t say it (love), at least not yet, at least not how she means it. She hopes they can feel it in every kiss she presses to Quentin’s neck, to Eliot’s thigh while Quentin sucks him down.

She pets them both, and eventually Eliot stutters and warns Quentin that he’s going to come in his mouth. Quentin moans and sucks it down, body pushing back against the comfort of Margo’s hands even as he pleasures Eliot.

Once Eliot’s caught his breath, he asks Quentin, “Do you want to come?”

“Yeah, and um,” Quentin looks to Margo briefly before looking back to Eliot. “Can you not say no?”

Margo gets it. Tonight hasn’t really been about Quentin not coming, and with all the emotions, it might be weird if they’re not all on the same post-orgasm page. 

“You can come, Q” Margo cuts in. “Come for us.”

Eliot’s big hand wraps around him and helps him find his release between them. 

They settle. With a gentle hand on the back of her head, Eliot pulls her down to rest on his chest. She’s not sure if the weight of her is enough to upset his wound, but he doesn’t make any sounds of discomfort. She lets herself be held, and her emotions bubble up and out of her. 

She blinks tears away, and looks over at Quentin curled up next to them, his hand rubbing smoothing circles against Eliot. 

“You both are so important to me,” she whispers.

She almost doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t know if she can muster up enough bravado to get it out, but she tries her best. “Neither of you are allowed to up and die on me, ok?”

Eliot stills underneath her, and Quentin is the first to speak. “I’ll try my best.”

Eliot says, “Agreed.” She knows their words aren’t a spell to tether them to her, but she feels settled. She feels the beast inside her that was clawing to get out and away earlier settle down.

They rest for a moment. She still needs to pee after fucking Eliot, and they’re going to have to get Quentin’s come off of them before falling asleep for the night. They’ll probably have to have another conversation about all of this, but for now things are good. They can date, and Margo can let herself feel, and she can try not to shut herself away. They’re alive, and they can do this. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come say hi, I'm also on tumblr at amagpie.tumblr.com. Please yell at me about sub!Quentin and Marqueliot.


End file.
